Interruption of chronological sequence
by squarey
Summary: Ch. 7. "Bobby still felt sick, way down deep in his gut, that he hadn’t seen it coming..." A look at Bobby in the days leading up to joining Major Case.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**: The usual preamble. The LOCI's are not mine. Everyone else is... :) Here is a flashback of the last case Bobby worked before being assigned to Major Case. A bit outside the box for me, so let's see how it goes. I take full responsibilty for any editing gremlins.

* * *

"Where are you going?" Bobby awoke to find himself alone in the bed. He stretched and looked at the clock, surprised to see it was near 6:00pm. As a narcotics detective, he had been working nights. There was an amazing amount of sitting around that came with being a detective. Most people seemed to think a detective's life was full of street chases and throwing felons around. Quite the opposite was true. Being a detective was more of a game of watch and wait. He had spent the morning in bed with his favorite snitch, Amelia Green, and the rest of the day asleep. As soon as he asked the question, he realized he didn't need for her to answer; he knew that she was headed to work.

"Some of us have to work today." She smiled, running a towel across her curtain of nutmeg colored hair. Her smooth, pale skin was still pink from the heat of the scalding shower. She looked incredible as he watched her finish toweling off her lithe nude frame in the evening light of the bedroom.

"I worked last night." Bobby pushed himself up onto his elbows.

"So did I." He watched her run the towel down her legs. She was exceptionally limber, and could do some amazing things with her long, shapely legs.

"Right." Bobby sighed deeply, his chest rising and falling. She bartended at a club they were in the middle of surveiling. The club was owned by someone they were trying to charge with a wide variety of illegal things, including drug trafficking and involvement in several homicides. The drug charges were what currently interested Bobby. For now, he was leaving the homicides to the homicide detectives.

"Are you working tonight?" She asked, he watched her slip into a tiny pair of black panties and a lacey black demi-bra.

"Yeah." He replied. She was standing at the foot of the bed, looking at him. He really hadn't done much with his apartment. By looking at the bed, she was really looking at a box spring and mattress on the floor. She surprised him by gently jumping forward and loosely straddling him, the sheets and blankets between them. She leaned forward and kissed him softly on his lean hard stomach.

"Well I guess I'll see you at work tonight." She looked up at him, her denim blue eyes catching the fading light.

"I hope not, it's kind of my job not to be seen. You know, Camilleri is not supposed to know he is under investigation." Bobby looked at her smiling at him. "Well, he's not supposed to know we are sitting on his club." Bobby allowed, Camilleri was a major player, he of course knew he was under investigation; he just hopefully didn't realize how close they were to closing in and making arrests. He watched Amelia move back off the bed and wriggle into an incredibly tight, low slung, black skirt. She slipped into a cotton white shirt, impossibly tight across her full breasts, and left it unbuttoned low, so he could see the edge of the intricate lace of her bra. Then she slipped into a pair of tall, smooth, wickedly high heeled black boots.

He looked at her for a long, quiet moment. She really could stop an entire room. But that wasn't actually why he was so drawn to her. Well, maybe that was what had caught his attention at first. But, now he was intrigued by something different. He knew that she had just a twelfth grade education, but Amelia was extremely bright. She had lived a rather strange life, moving around within the United States, Italy, and a few other countries, getting knocked around by her father, who was always on the take or the make in some shady deal. Amelia was smart and resourceful and had an amazing gift for languages. Bobby knew that she was receptively multilingual in at least four languages outside of English, including Italian and Spanish. She knew the street side of the languages, and even though she could not converse in them, she understood just about everything she heard. And the beauty was that no one around her seemed to realize that she could understand what they were saying. They all just assumed that she was how she appeared, a slightly knocked around piece of eye candy. Camilleri did recognize that she was a fabulous bartender. A lot of customers would come in for her visual appeal, but just as many other customers stuck around because she made incredible drinks. So, Camilleri made a lot of money by keeping Amelia in his employ.

"Well, I'll think of you out there, in your cold, hard car." Amelia replied. Bobby smiled, not revealing that they were in the building across the way, not outside in a car. Some things were better just kept to himself. He reasoned that the less Amelia knew the better. She snitched on the conversations she overheard, providing information, names, locations, but, Bobby did not provide information to her about what they did with all of that information. So, in that way, theirs was a one way relationship. In other, more physical ways, it was definitely more mutual, which is why he moved to kneeling on the bed and softly kissed her breasts, his unshaven face leaving her skin a little rashy for a moment.

* * *

Bobby sat in an ancient office chair, placing an unbelievable amount of pressure on the back of the chair as he pressed his feet against the window ledge and looked down at the club. He was alone for the moment. His partner for the night, Masters, had gone out to grab some take-out. The guy he was usually partnered with, Stephen James, was off for the night.

Bobby often inwardly smiled when he thought about the guy's name – two first names. Bobby had never commented on that, but he noticed that everyone else often did. And, actually, it could promote some confusion. People called him James, and sometimes someone would try to get friendly with him and call him Jimmy, as if James were his first name. So, Bobby found a good bit of humor in having two first names.

He remembered that James had mentioned he had a date with some recently widowed detective. Bobby felt fairly certain that the date would be an unmitigated disaster. First of all, he couldn't imagine many women being able to tolerate Stephen James in any kind of prolonged way, let alone another cop, let alone someone who had lost a loved one rather recently (Bobby thought James had mentioned she had been widowed in the past year or so). Bobby realized that he would get to hear all about it, whether he was paying attention or not, the next time he was in a car with James.

In the room he was hold up in, there was a computer set up, broadcasting the wire tap on some of the main phone lines in the club. However, the wire was pretty useless. These guys were smart enough not to talk about anything of any importance over the phone. Bobby watched the people on the street, coming and going out of the club. They had another computer where they had tapped into the video feed of the club's security cameras, so he had some nice shots of the inside bar area, some of the back hallway, and the back entrance to the club. Bobby glanced at the screen to see a spectacular shot of Amelia leaning forward, balanced with her upper body completely across the bar, her legs kicked up and off the floor behind her, with Camilleri's right hand, Anthony Bonello, talking with her, taking in a nice view of her wonderful breasts. Bobby felt something strange tighten and move inside of him. He didn't want to become deeply involved with Amelia. She was kind of a nice distraction, a means to an end on the case, but he was not interested in a deep and personal relationship, and perhaps more to the point, neither was she. So, it felt a bit weird that he should take notice of Bonello taking notice of Amelia. He reflected that detachment was easy in theory, perhaps a bit more difficult in practice.

"Anything going on?" Masters asked as he walked into the room, two large bags of Chinese takeout in hand, with a couple of giant caffeinated sodas.

"Not really." Bobby replied, standing up off the chair, which barely had the engineering left to spring back into an upright position. Masters moved to stand in front of the video feed, looking at the various areas of the club while Bobby rooted through the Chinese food. Chopsticks in one hand, lo mein in the other, he turned back toward Masters.

"I'd say we've got something going on." Masters said, and Bobby shoved in beside the other man to see the screen. A very tall, formerly muscular, guy was leaning over the bar making a grab for Amelia. She was no longer at the far end talking with Bonello; she had moved to the end closer to the door and looked like she was pouring a beer. The guy grabbing for her was drawing a lot of attention. Bobby couldn't get a solid look at Amelia's expression, but he got the feeling that she knew the guy and that she was a little bit scared of him. This was unusual for Amelia, she didn't scare easily. Bobby watched, chopsticks now frozen in hand, as the guy lunged forward, grabbed Amelia by the wrists, causing her to drop the beer glass, and hauled her forward over the bar. He was holding her in front of him, barely on her feet, she struggled against his hold. Bonello and another guy rushed down the bar and grabbed the guy off Amelia, and, none other than Joseph Camilleri came around the other side and caught Amelia before she fell to the floor.

Even on the bad video, Bobby could see that Amelia was shaking, and he thought that part of her was shaking out of anger, and part out of fear. Bonello took the guy that had manhandled Amelia and knocked him forehead first, hard against the bar, clearly knocking a bit of sense out of him. They guy was yelling and struggling, red in the face. Bobby could see that he wasn't yelling at Bonello, he was still yelling at Amelia. Bonello slammed the guy face first again into the bar, and he stopped physically fighting so much, but he was still yelling. Bonello turned him, and started moving him toward the door, and Bobby caught a clean look at the guy, which caused him to set the chopsticks and lo mein aside. When Bobby had gotten involved with Amelia, even back when she was just his snitch, he had pulled details on her. One of which was the jacket of her father Kenneth Green. So, Bobby recognized the guy that had just pulled Amelia over the bar, as none other than Kenny Green.

"Who the hell is that guy?" Masters asked. He could practically feel the seething anger emanating from Bobby. Masters did not know of the personal relationship between Bobby and Amelia, so he was at a bit of a loss as to Bobby's visceral reaction to what had just gone down.

"Somebody that's about to ruin about 3 months of work." Bobby replied, realizing that Bonello was probably going to pop Kenny Green. Bonello was not exactly known for his level headed thinking. Camilleri usually had to talk him down and through things. But Camilleri was busy with Amelia. However that was only a small part of what had Bobby seeing red. Bobby's gut was twisted up by something much more deeply personal, which was having to watch Amelia's dad come into a bar and beat on her while he stood across the street and couldn't do a damned thing about it. Bobby had zero tolerance for dads who were always on the make, leaving bruises on their kids.

* * *

**A/N**: (hopefully someone had a "hey, that's Alex!" moment). Drop me a line and let me know if you are hoping for a chapter 2.


	2. Chapter 2

"We need to get a black and white…" Bobby turned to Masters and realized that the other detective was already on top of it. They needed to get a patrol car visible as quickly as possible to detail Bonello from taking Kenny Green out into the back alley and beating the life out of him.

"Wow. That's the most we've directly seen this week." Masters said, and they returned to the window to look down at the club. Sure enough, Bonello had Kenny Green by the back of the neck and was pushing him down the alley way toward the back of the building. A black and white was there in moments, lights on, no sound. They shined the spot light on Bonello as Camilleri came out the front. Bonello let Green go, but not before throwing him forward into the wall. When the patrol called it back into Masters they revealed that Camilleri had brushed the whole thing off as Green being drunk and sick in the bar and they were taking him into the back alley instead of letting him get sick on the sidewalk out front. Masters had prepped the uniforms just to break it up and not make any arrests, so they had let it go.

Four hours later, as the club was closing, it turned out that was the most they saw all night. In fact, Bobby realized that he had not seen Amelia resurface from Camilleri's back office. She had not returned to finish her shift, and she had not left the club. So, Bobby knew that she had spent the next few hours in the office, part of which was with Camilleri. As Bobby headed home, he had this strange mixed feeling of curiosity, part of which had him wondering if Amelia had eavesdropped on any pertinent conversations, the other part, that he tried to shove away, had him wondering what Amelia had been doing with Camilleri.

* * *

"Goren." James slid into the driver's seat of the car. Bobby sprawled on the passenger side, forehead pressed against the cool feel of the window. He was exhausted. He had not slept more than 6 hours in the past 48. Everytime he closed his eyes he was hit with the image of Kenny Green yanking Amelia over the bar by her wrists. Amelia had not come by his place, and he couldn't exactly leave a message for her.

"James." Bobby mumbled his reply, smiling, sophomorically thinking about the two first names. "How was your date?" Bobby asked, knowing the question would garner a long winded reply. Bobby counted on that, thinking that he could sit back, close his eyes, and tune out for a while. If Bobby played it right, he could sleep for the next 20 minutes as they traversed miserable traffic in the city.

"Fine." James replied, not giving the long winded response that Bobby had anticipated, which actually piqued Bobby's curiosity.

"Fine?" Bobby looked sideways at James. "What – am I you mother asking you about your day when you were in grade school?" Bobby mocked James over his rather petulant use of the word _fine_.

"She's got some mouth." James sped across the city. Bobby sat up, if possible, even more interested in James's date. By some mouth, Bobby could tell that James wasn't referring to an excellent mouth for kissing. Bobby knew that James meant that she had a smart mouth, and Bobby had respect for an intelligent, sarcastic woman. "She's hot, blonde hair and honey eyes…" James offered, and Bobby waiting for the _but_.

"And?" Bobby prodded.

"She's not my type." James replied, and clammed up. Bobby leaned back against the seat, closing his eyes. By _not my type_, James meant that he wasn't her type, and she probably had made that patently clear at some point. Bobby wondered if the bumbling Stephen James had tried to make a move on her and that was when he got a nice taste of her smart mouth.

"Goren." James screeched the car to a stop. Bobby was sound asleep with his face pressed against the car window. He had been drowsily imagining a blonde with honey eyes and a smart mouth, but that had quickly turned into a leggy brunette, with full curves, and bruises on her wrists from where someone had grabbed her.

"Right." Bobby replied rubbing the heels of his hands against his eyes. James had pulled up in front of 1PP. "Thanks for the ride." Bobby said automatically. The Captain of Major Case had called Bobby in for a meet and greet. Bobby thought that one of his cases had somehow gotten mixed up with something active within Major Case, why else would Captain Jimmy Deakins set up a meeting.

"Yeah. Later Goren." James pulled away after Bobby got out of the car. As Bobby rode in the elevator, he mentally prepared himself to sit quietly and take in whatever information Deakins dished out.

* * *

Instead of sleeping, Bobby found himself watching the video feed from the night before. With the action around Amelia, Bobby realized that maybe that had missed something on one of the other cameras. At least that was what he rationalized. Though, the fact that he was sitting, polishing off a generous portion of scotch, suggested otherwise. He found himself watching Amelia, staring at his phone, staring at his apartment door, practically willing her to phone or to come by.

When the soft knock sounded at his door, he was on still watching the video, but he was no longer drinking the scotch. He had polished off what he had and was actually thinking about walking down the block to buy some more. Though he wasn't quite certain he would make the walk, he was feeling comfortably numb. He pushed himself slowly to standing and shuffled to the door.

"Hey." Amelia said, stepping inside, scooting past him as he leaned in his own doorway. "Mixing your own drinks?" She softly teased, referring to the fact that she was the one who usually mixed the drinks. "Or just straight up." He watched her move into his apartment, picking up the empty bottle, the empty glass. She watched him, watching her, his eyes heavily leaded, his movements slow.

She had her hair pulled back into a thick pony tail secured at the nape of her neck. She was wearing a black sweater and low, loose jeans, so as she moved he could see the bare skin of her back, of her waist. If at all possible she looked a bit demure, well demure for Amelia anyway. Bobby reached out and took her hands in his. He gently pushed her sleeves up to reveal her bruised wrists. He could see the finger shaped bruises printed deeply into her smooth skin. She did not look down, she kept her eyes on his.

"You know something about this?" She asked, and she was referring to the possibility that Bobby had been there, watching it happen. She did not know for certain the extent of the operation on the club, so she wondered if NYPD had eyes inside. Bobby's somewhat slowed, drunk mind took her words to mean something different.

"Yeah, I know something about this." He said, running his fingers lightly across her bruises. "I had a dad like this." He admitted, taking her completely off guard. He was not exactly someone that revealed a lot of personal details about himself. In fact, in the months she had known him, he had not said a word about his family. And, in that moment he revealed he had a dad that kind of threw him around a bit, maybe a dad like her dad - often on the make, and he had used the past tense, as in he _had_ a dad and chances were his dad, unlike hers, was deceased.

She moved her hands away from his, and slowly peeled off her sweater. She stood in front of him, in her bra, her jeans hanging low around the curves of her hips. She stepped forward, pressing herself against him, distracting him from the bruises on her wrists. She stood slightly up onto her toes, kissing him, tasting the scotch on his lips, moving her hands down his back, beneath the waist band of his pants. She could feel him tense against her at first, as if he was going to resist her advance, so she expertly deepened the kiss. She had been with him enough to know what he liked, so she wasn't surprised when he gave into her and picked her up by her thighs and set her down on his kitchen table. She moved his shirt up and over his head, running her fingers lightly along the muscles in his chest, down the strength of his arms. He was kissing her in the valley of her neck behind her ear, his unshaven face tickling her throat. It had been a while since they had sex in his kitchen, and as she wriggled out of her jeans, she remembered how much she liked his kitchen table.

* * *

Bobby opened his eyes slowly against the morning light. It had been a while since he had actually slept in his bed when it was dark outside. He had been working so many nights, that his sleep clock was upside down. So, for a moment, he simply lay there looking at the shadows on the wall, remembering what the sunrise looked like as he lay in bed.

Amelia lay in front of him, sound asleep, curled on her side around a pillow in front of her. His chest was pressed against her back, and he reached out and moved her long think hair away from her face. His eyes were drawn again to her wrists, he lay looking at the bruises, thinking about last night.

He remembered what she had asked him, about knowing something about the injury on her wrists. He realized in retrospect that she had been wondering if Bobby had been watching the place when her dad had stopped by, she had been fishing for information. He had given her something else, he had given her a glimpse into his personal life, the same as she had unintentionally given him a glimpse into hers as he watched her dad rough her up in the club last night.

He wondered if she had anything for him on Camilleri. Bobby had plenty to charge Bonello with, but very little that would stick to Camilleri. Bobby was investing a bit more time. They would never get Bonello to flip on Camilleri, and so far they had only been able to get people to flip on Bonello. Before Bobby closed this case down by going after arrest warrants, he wanted a warrant issued for Joseph Camilleri. He was hoping maybe Amelia could help him with that, but he was also coming to realize that his involvement with Amelia was more complex than that.

The sound of Bobby's phone vibrating wildly across his floor caught his attention. He rolled away from Amelia and picked it up. She remained asleep. Bobby knew that she could sleep through practically anything.

"Goren."

"Yeah, homicide has a dead body related to our case." Masters dispensed with the small talk. "I'll be to your place in 10, we need to get our asses to the scene before everything gets screwed up."

"Right" Bobby wondered if they had IDed the dead body, his mind moving back again to Kenny Green.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

"So, what was that thing with Major Case yesterday?" Masters asked as he drove across the city. Bobby had left Amelia sound asleep in his bed. He had scribbled a note on a piece of yesterday's newspaper – _7:20am; STAY; BACK IN A FEW HOURS_.

"Deakins talked to me about a few cases. So he is either investigating something that relates to what we're working on, or he's investigating me." Bobby replied, thinking about the small gossipy world of NYPD. Bobby figured if it was the latter, and it was serious, then he would've been meeting with IAB. So, without giving much brain power to it, he thought that Major Case had some ongoing investigation that somehow overlapped with recent busts made by him as part of his narcotics work.

"Jesus." Masters exclaimed as the rolled up on scene among about a dozen police issue vehicles. "It's like some kind of all hands meet. We have patrol, homicide from the precinct, and organized crime."

"And us." Bobby said as he stepped out of the car. He was still expecting to find the body of Kenny Green. His only regret, he realized, would be that he hadn't been able to personally punch the guy in the face before someone else took the initiative to off him.

"Who is the unfortunate member of society today?" Masters asked, surprising Bobby a bit by revealing that there was a possibility that the dead body was not Kenny Green. Bobby had just assumed given the proximity of last night's activities and this morning's murder scene that they hadn't quite successfully derailed Bonello's desire to get some pay back on Kenny Green for roughing up Amelia.

"Salvatore Patti." One of the detectives from organized crime offered the information, kind of standing in front of Masters and Bobby, blocking their way from getting closer to the scene. Patti was someone Bobby had recently flipped to testify against Bonello. So, it was a blow to his case that Patti should no longer be among the living.

"Well that explains why you're here." Masters remarked to the organized crime detective.

"And it explains why you're here." The detective replied. It was common knowledge that there was a bit of a turf dispute regarding the open case narcotics had against Camilleri and the organized crime division. Right now, narcotics was lead, but they were supposed to appropriately share information with organized crime. However to date, narcotics had not found anything appropriate to share.

"Isn't this cozy." Stephen James sauntered over, cup of coffee in hand.

"Cozy." Masters repeated, looking at James, rolling his eyes a bit.

"I'm taking your ride." Bobby turned to Masters deciding that he didn't need to be there. Masters and James could take care of this from the narcotics angle.

"What?" Masters looked at Bobby, a bit surprised.

"I don't need to be here." Bobby replied.

"You don't?" James asked, dumbfounded.

"I don't need to run my fingers across the dead body of Salvatore Patti to determine the cause of death was a professional hit ordered by Bonello." Bobby stated.

"You don't?" James asked, still stupefied that Bobby should say such a thing. In fact, James felt pretty certain that Bobby did need to run his fingers across the body to determine the cause of death. James observed that Bobby always did this, even in the most disgusting of circumstances.

"I need your ride." Bobby held out his hands to Masters for the keys. "You can fill me in."

"Sure thing." Masters dropped the keys into Bobby's outstretched hand.

"He always runs his fingers across the body." James was saying as Bobby was walking back to the car. In narcotics, they came across their share of dead bodies, so Bobby did indeed conduct a thorough investigation of the scene, but in this case since Bobby was not working the homicide angle, he decided he was more curious about what Amelia might have on Camilleri or Bonello.

* * *

When Bobby returned to his apartment, he realized he had missed Amelia by maybe 10 minutes. She had left a reply for him on the same piece of newspaper, marking the time, stating she had an appointment. He of course had no idea what kind of appointment Amelia Green would have made so early in the morning when she worked so late at night. He wouldn't be able to ask about that either until he managed to catch up with her. Unfortunately, the day came and went with no calls from Amelia. Bobby was a bit tense that she hadn't contacted him. He found himself sitting in his car racking his brain for a place that she might be. She was not at the club. He established that by calling into Masters who was monitoring the wire. Slowly it occurred to him that she might have gone out some place for a drink. It is what he would do on a night off. So, he put his car in gear and headed toward a bar he remembered she had mentioned to him once, a bar that she said served particularly good drinks.

When Bobby walked into the bar, he spotted her immediately. It was a rather upscale place, with nice looking people and nice looking liquor. She was seated alone at the far end of the bar, and Bobby felt certain that every male eye in the place had taken a good, long, look at her. She was wearing a gauzy short sleeved blouse that was transparent enough that you could detect the outline of her bra underneath, a below the knee black skirt that was seductively tight and slit up the thigh, and black, high, sling backed heels. Her nutmeg hair was gently wavy, falling across the angles of her face. He watched her run her perfectly manicured fingers along the rim of her almost empty glass. By the lime in the glass, he guessed she was drinking a _gimlet_, and knowing Amelia, he felt certain it was made with exquisite vodka.

"Could you do me a favor, and send the lady at the end of the bar a fresh drink?" Bobby pulled out his wallet.

"The lady is buying her own drinks tonight." The guy behind the bar replied, none too nicely. Despite his minor annoyance, Bobby smiled. He wondered how many guys before him had attempted to send Amelia a drink.

"In that case, I'd like a _manhattan_. Could you serve it to the empty seat beside her?" Bobby laid some bills on the bar. The guy looked at Bobby for a long moment. Bobby could tell that the bartender was thinking about suggesting that Bobby sit elsewhere. But Bobby simply stared at the bartender, not giving the guy much room to say anything.

"Sure thing." The bartender said, in that _it's your waste of energy_ kind of way.

"Is this seat taken?" Bobby asked Amelia, who turned toward him, not really changing much about her posture or her expression. The bartender placed the drink down in front of Bobby. "I hear they serve excellent drinks here." Bobby slid onto the stool and took a sip of his drink. It really was a spectacular.

"Is that what you hear?" Amelia looked at Bobby, as the bartender placed a fresh _gimlet_ in front of her. She took a generous sip and set her glass back on the bar.

"Why, what have you heard lately?" Bobby said, shifting the conversation a bit, but being vague enough that they could still be talking about the quality of drinks served at the bar.

"Nothing." Amelia shrugged slightly and swished the ice around in her drink. Bobby and Amelia had it down, so he knew that she was saying that she hadn't heard anything that Bobby could use against Camilleri or Bonello in the past few days.

"You alone tonight?" Bobby asked, his tone was soft, private. She smiled.

"Yeah, I'm alone tonight." She whispered, but she wasn't looking at him she was looking at her drink. His eyes moved along the length of her arms, she must've applied some kind of concealer to her wrists, the bruises were no longer readily apparent. "But I don't want to be alone tonight." She looked at him sideways, through the curtain of her thick hair. Bobby was acutely aware that the bartender was taking note of the exchange, as were several other of the customers. Bobby knew it was cliché to play two strangers meet in a bar, but he was playing it anyway.

"Neither do I." Bobby stood, finishing his drink in a few smooth swallows. He gestured for her tab, and laid enough cash on the bar to cover her drinks, which he was somewhat surprised to see were quite a few. He had known her for while, and he had never seen her drunk. He watched her stand, her feet hitting the floor but she didn't really feel it at first, so her legs gave a little. He caught her gently with his hands on her upper arms.

"MiMi." The bartender leaned forward, revealing that he knew Amelia, showing concern that she should be drunk in his bar letting some stranger seemingly pick her up.

"It's Ok, I know the guy." Amelia said, her voice very soft, her words a little thick on her tongue. The bartender eyed Bobby, still not quite sure of things. Amelia moved forward, closer into Bobby's arms. After a moment, the bartender took her word for it and walked off to help some new arrivals at the other end of the bar.

"You're a little drunk." Bobby softly stated the obvious, holding her loosely in his arms. She smiled, shaking her head in a futile attempt to clear away some of the fuzziness. "Long day?" He asked. She nodded, placing her forehead against his chest. "Is your dad still in town?" Bobby couldn't hold back the question. She nodded against his chest. "Anyone have anything to say about that?" Bobby asked, knowing full well that Camilleri and Bonello would have something to say about that.

"He asked me if I would miss my dad." Amelia whispered, revealing that either Camilleri or Bonello had obliquely inquired about the possibility of taking care of Kenny Green.

"What'd you say?" Bobby asked. She yielded further into him, and he automatically wrapped his arms around her.

"I said, sometimes living a hard life is punishment enough." She whispered. Bobby held her for a moment, thinking about her words. His breath caught in his chest. He was thinking about his own father. He wondered if his father's life was hard enough to make up for everything he had dished out to Bobby as a boy. Bobby closed his eyes and realized that he didn't think so.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

"Why is Major Case all up in our business?" Masters spat out as Bobby arrived on scene of the second homicide related to the Camilleri case in two days.

"I think the question should be - _why are all of our witnesses meeting untimely deaths_?" Bobby replied, trying to push past Masters to the scene. "Is someone cleaning house?" Bobby mumbled to himself, ducking underneath the yellow police tape.

"Well, technically Thomas Jordan is not a witness in our case." Masters trailed after Bobby.

"Depending on how we land, Thomas Jordan would either be a witness or a defendant." Bobby replied. "Either way, he was a piece of the Camilleri investigation, one that we haven't quite figured out, and now he is dead."

"Well, he's definitely dead." A petite blonde detective turned to look up at Bobby. He hadn't noticed her at first and had almost plowed over top of her in his preoccupation. "And, I believe Major Case is prime on this." Her tone was conversational, but she stopped Bobby short. He accurately sensed an underlying layer of steel.

"Thomas Jordan is under investigation as part of an active case in Narcotics." Bobby replied, watching CSU work on the body. He could tell, even at this slight distance, it was a professional hit.

"Well, he hasn't shown up on any official papers as part of your investigation, so now he is now part of mine," she quipped, somehow managing to block his 200 pound body with her tiny 100 pound body. Bobby stood, rubbing his fingers across his forehead. He was frustrated and he really just wanted to step over this diminutive blonde detective and take a closer look at the scene. But like yesterday, he realized that it didn't necessarily matter how the victim died, what mattered to Bobby's case was who ordered the hit, and how did the death impact the case. Bobby took a deep breath, reminding himself that as good as he was at solving homicides, he was on the _narcotics_ case.

"Fine." Bobby bit out and went to turn, but he ran smack into Masters.

"Fine?" Masters said, as surprised as he had been yesterday that Bobby didn't want his hands all over the scene.

"Fine." Bobby stated again, staring at Masters, willing the detective to keep his mouth shut. Bobby didn't want Major Case invading his space. Bobby pushed by Masters and walked off.

"What makes this fine?" Masters caught up, but he demonstrated some intelligence by keeping his voice quiet.

"We need to get better ears on Bonello." Bobby said. "Or, I think people are going to keep dropping like flies."

"Right." Masters nodded, seeing that Bonello was likely behind this as well. "Do you think that Bonello has ears on us?" Masters asked the question that had been burning in Bobby's gut.

"No, I don't." Bobby replied, realizing that he was being honest. If Bonello was aware of their investigation, there were many more important things to clean up than Patti and Jordan. "But I know the exact pair of ears to put on him." Bobby mumbled, thinking about Amelia.

* * *

Bobby stood in the place across the street from the club where they had set up their observation equipment. Again, they were listening to the wire tap on the phone and watching the intercepted video feed. He had managed to meet Amelia before she went into work and had specifically asked her to pay attention to Bonello. He remembered how she had looked at him, how something had shifted in her eyes. Never before had he asked her to solicit information. Up until this point, he pretty much let her bring the information to him.

"You could maybe get him drunk, get him talking about his week." Bobby offered, strangely clueless about her body signals. In retrospect he realized that she had been distancing herself from him. She had wrapped her arms around herself and taken a small step away. She had stopped looking him in the eye and started looking at a fixed point on the floor. He had been so intent on trying to figure out what Bonello was up to, he didn't realize until he looked back on the exchange that his request had upset her.

He remembered she had whispered to herself - _I'm just the girl behind the bar_.

He looked at her on the video feed he was watching and realized that she was not just the girl behind the bar. Somewhere along the way the lines had blurred. But, he could see that she was doing as he had suggested, she was keeping the drinks flowing to Bonello. Bobby was a bit frustrated that all he could see was the visual, he couldn't hear the exchange. He could see that Bonello was talking with Amelia, his hands moving in big gestures as he conveyed some funny story. She was smiling in return, but the video was not clear enough for Bobby to see if the smile reached her eyes. He didn't think so, something about the way she had her hands resting on the bar, something about the way she moved, suggested to Bobby that she was playing a part.

After what felt like an interminable amount of time, Bobby could see Amelia starting to close down the bar. The other customers were paying their tabs and slowly departing, but Bonello remained. Amelia returned to stand in front of Bonello, reaching out to take his empty glass. Bonello caught Amelia's hands in his, and moved her hands slowly so that they were palms open on the surface of the bar, his hands resting on top of hers. Bobby watched as Bonello slowly reached forward and ran his fingers down the angle of her jaw, and along her collar bone. Bobby imagined that he saw Amelia shiver, though not from attraction. Bobby's mouth went dry, thinking about his request of her, thinking about his suggestion for her to get a guy like Bonello drunk. Bobby's suggestion had put her in this position, and his brain was spinning as to how to get her out of it.

Just as Bobby was struggling with the desire to sprint down the stair and somehow cause a commotion outside of the club, Camilleri walked over. Bonello immediately withdrew from touching Amelia and Amelia immediately moved away, surriptiously wiping her hands on a rag behind the bar, as if to get Bonello's touch off her. Camilleri smoothly extracted what appeared to be a very drunk Bonello from the bar. Bobby watched Amelia resume closing. When it came time to leave, Camilleri walked Amelia outside and put her in a cab. Bobby noticed that Camilleri peeled off two twenties from a roll, indicating that he knew the exact fair, including the tip, to Amelia's apartment. Bobby felt something turn over inside of him. He realized, he did not like this detail.

Bobby stalked through his empty apartment. He had gotten an e-mail from his Captain calling him in for a meeting first thing the next morning. No details, just a calendar appointment. But Bobby realized that wasn't what had him bouncing around against his empty walls. He was waiting for Amelia. She had said she would come by and let him know if she had gotten anywhere with Bonello. He took another shot of _Lagavulin_, thumping the empty glass back on the counter. His nerves were a little undone, and he couldn't quite figure out why. Or maybe it was that he didn't want to take the time to figure out why. He wanted to see Amelia. He wanted to figure out this case. Or, maybe he wanted to figure out Amelia. Or, maybe it was everything swirling together.

Finally he heard a soft knock at his door. He quickly answered it, jerking the door open, almost pulling her through as she had her hand resting on the door handle. She had changed clothes, she was no longer wearing the impossibly tight low-waisted black pants and form hugging bright white shirt. She had changed into those same low loose jeans she had worn the other night and a pale pink t-shirt. She had pulled her hair away from her face, so Bobby's eyes flicked to her collar bone and his brain was flooded with the image of Bonello touching her.

"Bobby?" She said his name, searching his face as if she could tell he was upset about something.

"Sorry… it's late… I, um, I, uh, you know… it's late." He said, running his hand through his hair, trying to brush off his peculiar behavior at maybe being a bit hyper because he was tired.

"I know. But you said…".

"Yes… yes I did, I said to come by." He cut her off and followed her through his apartment into his living space.

"Well, I served Bonello plenty to drink." Amelia offered, not looking at Bobby. "He said – you don't rob your own bank. But, he said it in Italian, to himself really, so I don't think it was meant for me to hear or to understand." Amelia lifted her eyes to look at Bobby.

"What did he say before that?" Bobby asked.

"He said he had a lot to do this week, a lot of unexpected things to do. Then he said, in Italian, you don't rob your own bank." Amelia supplied. This time Bobby was aware that she was wrapping her arms around herself. She had answered his question. Fundamentally Bobby was wondering about the connection between the hit on Thomas Jordan and the one on Salvatore Patti. She had answered that, they were all in business together, and apparently Jordan and Patti were attempting to cheat Bonello out of something. "Is that what you wanted?" She asked, starting to step around him back toward the door to the apartment.

"Yeah, that's what I wanted." He said, breathing in deeply, watching her move toward the apartment door. He had an early meeting with his Captain, what was left of his rational brain was telling him to let her go, to let her walk away, to put some distance where distance belonged. "Amelia." He said her name, causing her to stop and turn in his direction.

"Did you want something else?" She said, her voice the barest whisper. She was standing close to him, the air practically crackling between them.

"No." Bobby said, and she looked away. "I didn't want something else, but I _need_ something else." The words were out before he could stop them. Bobby reached forward with his body, kissing her softly, without quite touching her anywhere else. He could feel her breath catch in her chest. He wondered if she caught his slight shift in words. Up until recently, he had wanted her, wanted her in a base, primal way. But lately, he realized he needed her. He needed to be with her, to touch her, to have the scent of her in his bed, to have the scent of her on him. She yielded to him; giving into the desire to touch more than just their lips. As soon as he felt her give, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tightly against him, kissing her. As he picked her up, intent on carrying her back to the bedroom she wrapped her long, limber legs around his waist, and her arms around his shoulders, deepening the intensity of the kiss, of their touching, of her skin on his skin.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

Bobby sat outside his Captain's office, well actually he stood outside his Captain's office, kind of pacing around. He didn't know why he had been called in first thing this morning. There were a lot of things intersecting from his week – the case against Camilleri; the hit on Salvatore Patti; the hit on Thomas Jordan, who turned out to be the son of a real estate mogul, explaining MCS's involvement; his brief meeting with Captain Deakins from Major Case… Bobby wondered if it was one of those things, or maybe it was all of those things that had landed him outside his Captain's office, waiting for him to get off the phone.

"Goren." The Captain's loud voice emanated clearly even through the closed door. Bobby kind of shook himself out, like that small movement would bring himself some center. His nerves were jangled, and he was beginning to realize that maybe it wasn't entirely the case that was setting him on edge. Bobby focuses more on his job than personal involvement and this case had both. They just didn't seem to stick to him. He didn't feel he actively undermined personal attachments, he simply just did not encourage them or put much energy into developing them. But his feelings for Amelia, they were the beginning of something deeply personal.

"Captain." Bobby thought about sitting but he couldn't seem to make his legs bend in that direction, so he stayed standing. The Captain moved around to stand and lean in front of his desk, revealing that his rumpled shirt part way untucked.

"Busy week?" The Captain asked rather enigmatically. He waited for a reply, but Bobby waited him out. A lot of detectives would have started spilling everything that was on their mind, but Bobby wanted to see if the Captain had a specific question. "How was your meeting with Major Case?" The Captain asked, and Bobby was wondering which one – the one with Captain Deakins or the run in over Thomas Jordan.

"Fine." Bobby replied, thinking that either way, they were both fine.

"Fine?" The Captain replied, running his fingers through his hair. "What'd you think of Deakins?"

"I thought, I wonder why he is meeting with me." Bobby answered honestly. At least he had narrowed down which meeting with Major Case.

"I recommended you." The Captain replied.

"Recommended me…" Bobby repeated, feeling at a bit of a loss.

"For assignment to Major Case. It's a solid rec, I would love to keep you here, but Deakins asked me about you…"

"Assignment to Major Case." Bobby realized that he was parroting what the Captain was saying.

"I think it is a go, unless of course you get in the way of it."

"A go." Bobby said, running his hand over his head, mentally kicking himself for acting like a simpleton and finding nothing to say.

"2 weeks. So, close out this Camilleri thing."

"2 weeks." Bobby nodded, and his non-response default confirmed that he was not going to get in the way of things. The Captain dismissed him with a nod, and he walked slowly out of the office. He realized that the only unique contribution he made to the entire conversation was his use of the word _fine_, which he had just mocked Stephen James for using a few days ago.

Bobby spent the next few hours listening to wire tap conversations and watching video feed. His brain kept echoing the time frame – _two weeks_. Bobby realized they had still had plenty against Bonello, and a few of the other guys under investigation, but they had nothing with any weight against Camilleri. He placed his head forward onto his arms, resting on the table – _two weeks_. He jumped when his cell phone rang. He looked before answering, it was Masters.

"We've got a huge fucking problem." Masters whispered into the phone, as if he was standing around people and he didn't want them to hear what he had to say. Bobby looked at the clock, it was just after 5:00pm. "Homicide at the 2-7 just pulled Bonello in, charged with the murder of Kenny Green." Bobby rubbed the heel of his hand against his head.

"I'll meet you at the 2-7." Bobby clicked the phone closed. He beat feet across the city and into the precinct. Masters was already there, and had cleared the way with the Lieutenant so that he and Bobby could observe the interview from behind the one-way mirror.

"They have 3 witnesses that put Bonello as grabbing Green at about 1:00 this afternoon out of some diner. One of the cooks actually called it in. Apparently, Bonello slammed Green's face into the table a few times, and broke his arm twisting it behind his back as he jerked him up and out of the booth," Masters supplied. Bobby was having a hard time picturing such carelessness from Bonello. Bobby could see violence in the man, but not the public display that would certainly bring the police into the mix.

"Crime of passion." Lennie Briscoe, one of the 2-7 detectives that had just been in interview strolled into the observation room. "Apparently, Green chucked someone down a stairwell, someone that Bonello was pretty fond of." Bobby felt his blood run cold. "So, Bonello here, beat the hell out of Green, hauled him away from the diner, stuffed him into his car, and took him out someplace and put him down. I don't think Bonello was thinking NYPD could respond so quickly.

"I don't think Bonello was thinking." Masters mumbled.

Bobby could barely hear what was being said. He was thinking about the only someone that Kenny Green and Bonello had in common.

"We've been investigating him for months, and we got him on something completely unrelated to the investigation?" Masters stated. "So he just hauled Green up and out of a public place." Masters was still a bit flabbergasted. "Did he make any kind of statement?"

"Yeah, yeah he did. He said – sometimes living a hard life is _not_ punishment enough."

"Who did Green throw down the stairs?" Masters asked, putting the pieces together, starting to notice Bobby's uncharacteristic silence.

"Apparently, she was Green's daughter and worked at the club." Briscoe offered. "She didn't make it. SVU caught the case. Something about the scene, the way she was dressed, her injuries."

Bobby pushed himself out of the observation room and barely found his way to the men's room. He violently puked into the trash can, his face sweaty, his pulse racing. There was no mistaking what Lennie Briscoe had just said, Kenny Green threw Amelia down a flight of stairs, killing her, Bonello grabbed up Kenny Green, beat the crap out of him, and put him down like a dog.

* * *

Bobby splashed water across his face and into his mouth. He plunged the insides of his wrists underneath the cold water. He still felt sick, off balance, his brain was reeling. He closed his eyes thinking of leaving his apartment that morning. Amelia had been curled up on her side, snuggled deep underneath the covers, sound asleep in his bed. He looked at his reflection, trying to focus, trying to breathe.

"Goren." Masters walked into the men's room, talking conversationally as if they were standing around in a conference room, as if nothing was horribly wrong. "I can't believe this, they have Bonello on the Kenny Green thing. We have to tie him to Thomas Jordan, to Salvatore Patti. We need to tie him to the drugs, to the money. There is so much more than the Green homicide."

"What?" Bobby turned, a bit off balance.

"That spitfire little blonde detective is on her way over from Major Case. Apparently, she got wind that the 2-7 has Bonello and she likes Bonello for the Jordan hit. Organized Crime is about to apply pressure on this case, they've never had Bonello in custody and they are going to want to flip him. There is so fucking much more to this than the Green homicide." Masters offered, quizzically looking at Bobby, just beginning to realize that all was not right.

Bobby didn't say anything. He pushed by Masters and out of the men's room. He needed to get outside, to get some fresh air into his lungs, to get a bit of distance. He needed to think. _Breathe in, breathe out_, he told himself. His eyes closed, he pointed his face upward to the grey sunless sky. _Breathe in, breathe out_.

Thoughts exploded in his mind in all different directions. They had Bonello for the homicide, they had ballistics back on Jordan and Patti, which revealed it was the same shooter. Maybe the ballistics would match Kenny Green, tying Bonello to all three. They had nothing real on Camilleri, but they did follow the drugs back to two of the suppliers, so they could make the case there. _Breathe in, breathe out _– _sometimes living a hard life is not punishment enough_. Bobby felt his stomach lurch, so he took in a breath and held it. He needed to get to SVU, he needed to confirm what Briscoe had said about Amelia.

* * *

"I'm, um Goren, with Narcotics – I was, um, looking for Benson or Stabler." Bobby was standing in SVU, looking around at the desks, at the detectives.

"I'm Benson." The tall slender brunette replied. She had on her coat with a bag slung over her shoulder. Bobby could tell she was on her way out.

"You caught a case today, Amelia Green, it's related to case of mine." He said, his stomach heaving again, but he swallowed it down.

"Right." Benson replied. "Called in as an assault, possible rape." Benson recalled, and Bobby tried to maintain focus. _Rape_. "She was dead on scene." Benson continued, "she went down the stairs." Benson was talking, but Bobby had so much blood rushing in his brain he felt like he could hear the ocean roaring in his ears.

"Rape." Bobby repeated the last word that had deeply penetrated his thoughts.

"I don't think so," Benson offered, "there was evidence of recent sexual activity, but no evidence of rape. Witnesses who called it in said she was pleading with the man to let go of her, to get off of her, so they called it in as a rape. We're fairly certain it was an argument, not of a sexual nature."

Bobby shook his head in a vain attempt to clear it. _Breathe in, breathe out_. He mentally repeated to himself. "Thanks." He managed, and turned as if to go.

"You say the case is related to your case?" Benson's soft voice prevented Bobby from going. "Did you know her, did you know Amelia Green?" Benson asked, and Bobby realized there was no use saying otherwise. If Benson and Stabler chose to investigate further, Bobby would need to come clean on his involvement with Amelia. The recent sexual activity was with him. Not to mention, Bobby was postivie that his involvement with Amelia was written all over his face.

"Yeah, I know, um, I knew Amelia Green." Bobby's voice was hoarse. He looked at Benson, into her wide, soft brown eyes, so full of sorrow. Bobby wondered if she held such sorrow for all of her cases, or if her brown eyes were simply echoing the sorrow in his. They looked at each other for a long silent moment.

"Let me know if there is anything I can do." Benson said, shifting her bag on her shoulder.

"Thanks." Bobby said, feeling sick again. He motioned that he was going to use the men's room, she motioned that she was leaving. He barely made it before getting sick again. As he splashed water onto his face, he bitterly realized that he was making a grand tour of NYPD men's rooms, puking in all of them.

He thought about what his Captain had said – two weeks until he would be reassigned to Major Case. That is, of course, unless he managed to fuck it up. Two weeks to close down the Camilleri investigation, which seemed to be closing itself down. Two weeks to get his shit together and start over some place new.

He remembered working with Declan Gage - _get inside their head, use what you need, put the puzzle together, but never let them get inside of you_. Bobby wasn't good at that last part. He felt like every case he worked took some small part of him. His stomach lurched again as he realized that this investigation had taken so very much more from him than a small part. He looked at his reflection, thinking he needed to do a significantly better job at _not_ feeling anything.

The phone in his pocket started ringing wildly. Masters was trying to track him down.

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

As Bobby pulled into the 2-7 parking area, he almost crashed his incoming police issue vehicle into an outgoing SUV. It was a miss, but the SUV pulled around and screeched to a halt beside him – driver's side window to driver's side window. So, he was forced to roll down his window. The driver of the SUV was the blonde detective from Major Case.

"I don't know who the hell in their right mind thought it was a good idea to put you behind the wheel of a car," she snarked. Bobby could see in her expression that she was half way teasing. No harm no foul, but,he didn't have the energy to smile or respond. He looked at her for a moment, trying to muster up a response and watched as something shifted in her eyes. Her expression turned a bit softer. "Look, I said this to Masters, I want to be the first person you call if you match ballistics from Kenny Green to Thomas Jordan, tying them both to Bonello as the shooter."

Bobby managed a nod, and his nod was in good faith. He was looking at her from a new perspective. Given this morning's conversation with his Captain about his imminent transfer to Major Case, he imagined he would be interacting with this particular detective in some capacity. So, it was probably best not to screw things up with his future colleagues before he even showed for his first day. He watched pull away, feeling like this morning's conversation with his Captain couldn't possibly have happened a few hours ago. It felt like it had happened weeks ago.

He was about to get out of the car when his phone started ringing. He picked it up off the passenger seat to see it was Masters.

"Where the hell are you?" Masters shouted. Bobby couldn't tell if he could hear Masters through the phone, or through his car window. He looked outside of the car to see Masters outside the 2-7 near his car.

"About 12 feet away." Bobby replied, watching Masters look around. When their eyes met, Masters clicked the phone closed and jumped into the passenger seat of Bobby's car. He didn't have the mental capacity to drive, the Major Case detective had deftly pointed that out. So, he simply kept the car parked in front of the 2-7 and let Masters start talking.

"Holy shit. This investigation is collapsing on itself. All that surveillance, all that work, out the window." Masters punched his fist into the dashboard. Bobby closed his eyes, thinking about what Masters was saying, trying to broaden his focus beyond Camilleri.

"We've got Bonello. We've got enough to go to the DAs office for warrants on two big players on the supply side. We've got enough to exercise a warrant on the club to see what else turns up." Bobby offered.

"Right, right." Masters was shifting gears as well. "The chain of command will be happy with what we have, they don't know what we don't have…" Masters was mumbling to himself.

"We know what we don't have." Bobby returned, not exactly knowing why he made the remark. Masters paused, phone in hand, looking at Bobby.

"We need to bring home what we have, before what it's is gone." Masters said, pulling up the number onto his cell phone for the ADA assigned to their case. "But, you're God damn right, I know fucking full well that we don't have Camilleri." Masters said, echoing what Bobby was thinking. Bobby was only partially thinking about Camilleri.

"Jesus H. Christ." Stephen James said as he slid into the back seat of the vehicle. Bobby and Masters hadn't even seen him coming. Bobby locked the doors, before anyone else spotted them and decided to slide into the car. "I can't believe that dumbass Kenny Green threw that chick down the stairs. After he roughed her up in the bar the other night and Bonello practically smashed in his skull you would think he would've gotten the message."

Bobby swallowed hard, forcing the bile in his throat back down. There was nothing especially subtle about Stephen James. Bobby realized he was feeling the growing need to punch someone in the face, so he unlocked the doors and stepped out of the car before he turned around and irrationally grabbed a hold of James. He left the door open, thinking that in a moment he would get back in. _Breathe in, breathe out_.

"And you know, that hot blonde MCS detective, she's that same chick I went out on that miserable date with the other night…" James continued.

"Shut the hell up," Masters said to James. With that perfect expression of thought, there was no way in hell Bobby was going to get back in the car and risk using James as a punching bag, so he reached around and slammed the car door shut before stalking away.

**

* * *

**For the next couple of hours Bobby was swept up in presenting the details of the case to his Captain, the DAs office, and just about anyone else who had any kind of stake in the investigation. After calling in some huge favors, they had warrants for the arrest of several players and a warrant to search the club. James took the arrests, while Masters and Bobby went to the club to exercise the search, hoping to find something, anything that would incriminate Camilleri. Bobby contacted CSU to call in a few favors of his own, trying to expedite things related to the case. He wanted to personally ensure that Major Case was immediately forwarded any ballistics information on the Kenny Green homicide and the hit on Thomas Jordan.

They meticulously went through every room, every inch, every nook, every cranny of the club, looking for evidence they could use against Camilleri. CSU was crawling through the place as well, looking for just about every kind of residue known to science. After 4 hours, they found themselves leaning against the bar, looking out the window, and watching the sun rising higher in the morning sky.

"This isn't looking good." Masters mumbled, he was tired, Bobby could see it in the man's eyes and hear it in his voice.

"I'm going home," Bobby returned, looking behind the bar, feeling his chest constrict with the image of Amelia haunting his mind. He hadn't given himself an instant to think about her. Once closing down the case became the priority, Bobby knew that he couldn't allow himself to lose focus. So, he had kept what had happened to her cordoned off in his brain. Standing there, in the club, in front of the bar, exhausted from no sleep, and frustrated by no new evidence, Bobby closed his eyes. All he could think about was Amelia.

"Yeah." Masters said, in that _me too_ kind of way. "Maybe some sleep will give me some original thoughts." Masters rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes. Bobby nodded, and followed Masters out of the club.

When he got back to his apartment, Bobby walked back into the bedroom and flopped down onto the mattress on the floor, fully dressed. He buried his head into a pillow and closed his eyes. His heart literally hurt in his chest when he breathed in and caught the scent of Amelia in his bed, on his pillows, on the blankets. He lay there for a moment – _breathe in, breathe out_. But that wasn't working, so he pushed himself up and out of the bed and paced back into his kitchen. Without even thinking about the time of day, he reached into his cabinet and poured himself a generous measure of scotch, slugging back the first one, feeling the fire in his throat. Then he downed a few more in quick succession.

He closed his eyes and leaned forward, palms spread down on his kitchen counter. He couldn't get the image of her out of his mind. He felt the scent of her all over his body. He took a few more swallows of scotch and headed for the shower. He stood, letting the hot water scald his skin, leaning forward with his forehead pressed against the tile wall. He stood there until the water ran cold. He fumbled his way out, now feeling the effects of not eating, not sleeping, and drinking way too much way too fast. He awkwardly toweled off and struggled into a clean pair of jeans and a dark t-shirt. He was just thinking about polishing off the last of the bottle when he heard his phone ring.

"Goren." He answered his phone without looking to see who it was.

"This is Olivia Benson, SVU. We talked at the squad last night," the female voice softly replied.

"Yeah." Bobby managed, though his pronunciation of even that simple word was a bit off.

"I have personal effects, that is, I have, well…" Benson started to say something, but was hesitating. "You mentioned you knew Amelia Green, I have some of her personal effects." Benson offered. Bobby sat down hard onto the floor in his hallway. He banged his head slightly backward against the wall. "You could come by, there is no one on record to release them to." Benson continued. "Or, I could bring them by." Bobby closed his eyes, wondering why a detective he didn't know would be offering to bring by a victim's belongings. "Detective?" She said since his silence had stretched a few moments.

"Yeah." He replied. "I'll, um, I'll come by," he offered, his voice thick. He tried to force himself to stand.

"I'll bring them by," she replied, as if she knew that Bobby coming by would be a bad idea.

"Yeah," he said The next thing he knew, he was still sitting on the floor of his hallway, and someone was knocking at his front door. This time he did manage to press himself to standing, and made his way to the front door.

"Hi, we talked a few hours ago." Olivia Benson was standing in his doorway, an envelope in hand. Bobby was only somewhat surprised to realize he had passed out in his hallway for a few hours. He stepped aside, letting Olivia Benson come inside. He followed as she wandered into his kitchen and watched her lay the envelope on his countertop. "I heard you made your case," she offered, looking at him, concern evident in her brown eyes.

"Depends on how you define making my case," Bobby said, rubbing the heel of his hand against his forehead. He was still amazingly drunk. She looked at him quizzically for a moment.

"Anyway, there is no next of kin, no roommate, and you mentioned…" Olivia gestured to the envelope. Bobby reached over and dumped the contents onto the counter. He was surprised. Not much of the usual stuff spilled out, He expected her identification, a wallet, maybe some keys, and some other basic things.

He took in a ragged breath. None of those mundane things were part of her effects. Everything was intensely personal, sharpening the pain of his loss. What slid out of the envelope were only the things she normally wore on her person. He looked at the slender platinum plain band style rings that she wore on each of her thumbs and each of her forefingers. As he listened to the rings musically settle onto the counter top, he remembered Amelia teasing him that she wore them to keep the customer's eyes on her hands and away from her breasts. He had asked her, if she didn't like people looking at her breasts, why did she dress so provocatively. He remembered, at the time he had made that remark, he had been running his fingers down the low neckline of her blouse. In return, she had wickedly smiled and asked him if he thought what she was wearing was provocative, and he watched her as she slowly discarded her blouse and skirt, seductively showing him _provocative_. That was the first time they had ended up in his bed.

He noticed that next to the rings lay her necklace, a long, fine silver chain with a narrow cross pendant. He reached out and ran his finger along the angles of the cross. He closed his eyes for a moment; the cross didn't afford her much.

He turned and reached for the bottle he had left on the counter earlier, and opened his throat taking in a long swallow. He offered the bottle to Olivia Benson, studying her for a moment.

"I guess you're checking up on me," he said, his drunk brain finally attempting a guess as to why Detective Olivia Benson had offered to come by with the personal effects related to a case she had worked for maybe 5 minutes to someone she hadn't even talked to for 5 minutes. "How do I check out?" He said.

"Not too good," she allowed, taking the bottle and setting it aside. Her response confirmed that he had come to the right conclusion. She had brought these things by as a lame excuse to check him out. "I'm sorry…" Olivia offered.

"Yeah, so am I." He replied, reaching around her onto the counter to grab the bottle back into his hand. "So am I." He mumbled, and drank what was left of the scotch. He went to set the empty bottle on the counter, missed, and almost sent it crashing to the ground. Olivia instinctively reached forward and righted the bottle onto the counter, and Bobby found her body pressed up against his. Without thinking, he wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her. He so desperately needed contact with someone, he just needed to feel something, to feel someone's arms around him. For a moment, while his lips softly touched hers, she simple stayed frozen in his arms. When she didn't respond, Bobby pushed himself away from his counter and away from her. He pushed himself away from needing someone. "I'm sorry." He said, his words slurring. "You need to go." His tone did not leaving room for argument. He wanted her out of his place, he wanted her out of his space – NOW. He flopped down onto his couch, putting his arm over his eyes. "You did your duty Detective, you checked me out, now leave me the hell alone."


	7. Chapter 7

The phone ringing jerked Bobby awake. His head felt like fractured glass and his mouth felt like it was stuffed full of cotton. He was lying flat out on his back on his sofa, fully dressed. For a moment, his stomach revolted, and he thought he was going to get sick. He really wasn't the type of guy who drank himself into oblivion. Last night was an obvious exception.

"Goren." His voice was a mere croak as he fumbled for and finally answered his phone.

"Hi, this is…" Bobby dropped the phone before the female voice on the other side could continue. It smacked against the floor and jittered away. Bobby rolled over and fell onto his hands and knees, reaching out for the elusive phone.

"Sorry." Bobby mumbled into the phone.

"Did I wake you?" The voice asked, and Bobby recognized the speaker as the Major Case detective.

"Kind of." He admitted, if you could call what he had been doing _sleeping_.

"Oh." She paused as if she didn't quite know how to continue.

"Did you receive the ballistics report on Kenny Green?" Bobby offered, forcing his belligerent brain into coherent thought.

"Yeah. That's why I was calling. To thank you for having it expedited and sent directly to me." She said.

"No problem." Bobby crawled back up onto the sofa, leaning his head back against the tall cushions. "Anything else?" He asked, taking in a deep breath, holding it for a moment, liking the dizzy feel of keeping the oxygen in his brain.

"No." She said, but he noticed that she was hanging on the line, not ending the call.

"Hello?" Bobby said, knowing she was still there.

"Don't you want to know what it says?" She asked.

"What?"

"The report, if I just got it, and you were asleep, you probably haven't seen it." She offered.

"I know what it says."

"You know?"

"The ballistics results tie Bonello to Green, Jordan, and Patti." Bobby offered, rubbing his thumb and forefinger against his eyes.

"Yeah." She replied. He could practically see her nodding, looking at the report.

"Um." Bobby had actually mumbled the word out loud. He was trying to conjure up something professional to say about his reassignment to Major Case, something conversational that suggested he was looking forward to the assignment, looking forward to working in the same squad as her. But, his brain was blank.

"Again, thanks." She said, and this time she did hang up the phone, and Bobby realized that he was relieved that he didn't end up saying something idiotic, or simply stammering out something nonsensical. He really wasn't good at polite, trivial conversation.

He threw his phone onto the cushion beside him and pushed himself to standing. He stood, swaying slightly for a moment, realizing that he was still a little drunk. He shuffled into his kitchen, his eyes not open. He drank down a glass of water, without even opening his eyes. When he set the glass on the counter, he could feel it hit against something. So, he slowly opened his eyes and saw the platinum bands and silver necklace with the cross pendant. He set the glass aside, and threaded all four rings onto the first digit of his forefinger. He rubbed his thumb across them, spinning them slowly, watching them shine in the light in the kitchen. _Breathe in, breathe out_. He reached out and undid the clasp of the necklace, slipped the rings onto the chain alongside the cross pendant.

His phone started ringing again, bringing him sharply back to the here and now.

"Goren."

"Hey man. The warrants that James exercised went well. We have a solid case there. The ballistics tied Bonello to Green, Jordan, and Patti. And, I bet we'll get some other things to pop before the end of the day. CSU has nothing good from the club." Masters started rattling off the status of things. "The Captain, he's pretty damn happy with the case we made, and Organized Crime is as well. Not to mention, I know that pretty little thing at Major Case will be happy to have cleared the Jordan homicide off her desk. I know the VIPs were coming down hard to solve that case. If we're lucky, today will be a better day."

"Maybe." Bobby said, holding onto the line in silence with Masters.

"I know you knew her." Masters finally offered, rather cryptically. "Let me know, you know, if there is anything you need." He said.

"Thanks." Bobby replied, closing his eyes. "I'll be into the squad in about an hour."

"Yeah, see you then."

* * *

For a guy who had never coasted a day in his life, Bobby was doing his best to do just that. He let one day slide into three, closing down the Narcotics side of the investigation on Camilleri. They had made a solid drug case against the suppliers. They had effectively closed down the drug distribution in the club, which was a major hub of activity for several surrounding neighborhoods. They also had Bonello well on his way to prison for life. So, Narcotics turned what they had on Camilleri back over to the Organized Crime detectives.

Bobby found himself sitting in one of the small conference rooms off the main Narcotics squad room. He was leaned back hard in his chair, staring at the flecks in the ceiling tiles. His mind was connecting the flecks into constellations, as if the flecks were stars in a brilliant night sky.

"Goren." The Captain walked in.

"Captain." Bobby leaned back forward in his chair, resting his arms on the table, drumming his fingers against the hard surface.

"You have a meet and greet with Major Case this afternoon." The Captain said. "It will all be official in another week. I see you put in for that week off."

"Yeah. I, um…" Bobby started to say something but the Captain cut him off.

"I would've suggested it had you not put in for it." The Captain sat down across from Bobby. "You've given me some impressive stats over the years. I hope you will do the same for Deakins." He referred to Bobby's arrest and conviction rate.

Bobby nodded, thinking that maybe Major Case was just the thing he needed. Narcotics had really taken a personal toll on him. There was no stemming the tide of drugs in the city, so they did their best to dam it for a while, or maybe they just managed to narrow the stream. In his couple of years with Narcotics, Bobby had worked on some long term investigations, often becoming personally invested in the outcome, in the players. This most recent case had left him feeling like his insides had been ripped wide open. In Major Case, he would make a point to stick to the business of solving the case.

"Did you dress up for Major Case?" The Captain pushed his chair back and stood, referring to Bobby's dark suit, shirt and tie. Bobby stood as well, straightening his suit jacket.

"Not exactly." Bobby replied. Amelia's funeral had been today. Camilleri had pulled out all of the stops. Bobby had watched at a distance as the _whose who_on Organized Crime's list attended. They were also the clientele at the club, so they were paying respects to Camilleri, who was paying respects to Amelia. The Captain looked at him for a long moment, as if he thought Bobby might say something more. But in the end he simply reached out and shook Bobby's hand, offering a curt nod before walking off.

Bobby thought back to the funeral from that morning. He had waited until Camilleri's show was over to pay his respects. He had walked across the area where just a little while ago a crowd of mourner's had gathered. Camilleri had bathed the casket in a blanket of flowers, and had been the first to step forward and crumble earth into the grave. As Bobby stood, pretty much in the same spot where Camilleri had stood just an hour or so before, Bobby also reached out and picked up a handful of the damp, soft earth. He looked at it resting in his hand and tried for a deep breath.

He was a slow man to feel, he had learned early on to guard his heart. So, he was slow to realize he had feelings for Amelia. He never really had a chance with her. Kenny Green throwing her down the stairs had pretty much taken away that opportunity. Bobby still felt sick, way down deep in his gut, that he hadn't seen it coming, that he hadn't been around to stop it, that he wasn't the one to chase Kenny Green down into the diner and slam his face into the table for abusing his daughter, for murdering her.

He closed his fist around the soft soil, feeling the moisture wick into his palm. He slowly opened his fingers just enough to let the earth meet the earth.

Breathe in, breathe out. He took a deep breath, looked up for a long, lingering moment at the late morning sun, and walked away.

* * *

At the end of his extremely long day, Bobby found himself standing in Captain Jimmy Deakins office for his _meet and greet_. Bobby was leaning against the wall, fumbling with the silver chain he had in his pocket, rubbing his fingers across the platinum bands and the angles of the cross pendant. His brain returned to the advice he had received from Declan Gage - _get inside their head, use what you need, put the puzzle together, but never let them get inside of you_. He needed to find a balance, find a distance. He wondered if he could, and still be effective.

He was turning those ideas over in his head, sizing up how things at Major Case might be, when Deakins returned. "I know things will not be official until next week, but I thought I might introduce you to your future partner." Deakins was talking as he walked into the office. Bobby could see that he was followed by none other than the sharp tongued detective who he had worked the Thomas Jordan homicide. "Detective Robert Goren, this is Detective Alexandra Eames."

Alex Eames extended her arm to firmly shake Bobby's hand.

"Bobby." He mumbled. He pushed himself up and away from leaning against the wall, clumsily extracting his hands from his pockets. He took her hand in his and cleared his throat in an effort to say it more clearly, "Most people, they call me Bobby." He said. Though in time, he would come to know, and deeply respect, that she was not most people.

* * *

A/N: Yike! So, I think I'm done with this thread of thought. Hmmm... what should I write about next?


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